Alone
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Depressing oneshot I wrote while I was feeling... depressed. Warning: death of minor character!


**A/N:** I wrote this when I was feeling very depressed. This is what happens when I write in a funk. **Warning: Death of minor character!** Oneshot.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine! But yes, I still wish they were. For one thing, I'd be rich.

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**Alone**

"Hey, McGee! You comin'?" Tony called from the elevator.

Tim forced a smile onto his face. "No, Tony. I have a few more things to do. I'll be done in an hour. See you next week."

"Your loss! Adios!" The doors cut off Tony's wave.

Tim smiled, sadly this time, and looked at his computer screen once more.

"McGee! Why are you still here?" Ziva asked as she came up from Autopsy. "I thought everyone had left already."

"Not yet. I have a few last minute reports to file before I go home for the weekend. It won't take me more than an hour. Then, I'll be free." Tim smiled again to cover the lie.

"Do you need company?"

Tim was surprised by the offer but shook his head. "No. Thanks, but I'll get done faster if I don't have any distractions."

"True. Well, have a nice weekend." She nodded at him as she got on the elevator.

"Will do. See you Monday."

Again, the doors closed. Again, Tim looked at his monitor. He knew Abby and Ducky had both left early. Jimmy had taken the day off. He knew he could go back to his apartment and deal with all this there, but he found that he couldn't bear the idea of stepping inside the door. Not now... maybe not ever. NCIS was comforting.

The screensaver looped again.

"McGee, why haven't you left yet?" Gibbs asked, as he came around to his own desk.

"Just finishing up some last minute things, Boss. I'll be done soon," Tim said, staring intently at his monitor and typing. The open file actually _was_ a report. He'd be finished with it as soon as he typed in the case number, but as long as he didn't, he could honestly say that he wasn't done.

"You can wait until Monday, McGee. I won't be turning it in until then anyway."

"I know, Boss. But I'd rather not have it hanging over my head. If I finish now, I'll be able to relax." Tim's stomach clenched painfully as he spoke the words. They were a lie of such monstrous proportions that he was surprised his nose hadn't started growing.

"Suit yourself," Gibbs said, eyebrows raised. He leaned over his own computer, shut down, turned out the desk lamp and got on the elevator.

As soon as he was alone again, Tim started up the screensaver. He watched it loop over and over again. His eyes were still amazingly dry and had been since he had received the message earlier today. He didn't know why he wasn't leaving, why he was still sitting at his desk _not_ doing anything. When he had first listened to the message from his mother, he had felt his entire body go numb. For a moment, his vision had tunneled and he had vaguely wondered if he was going to pass out. Then, his vision cleared and the world reasserted itself. He remembered calling, talking for a few minutes, thanking his mother for telling him and then hanging up.

Instead of telling anyone, he had gone on working, staving off the moment when it would all come crashing down on him, the moment that he would really know it. It was fast approaching he could tell. His stomach was so tightly twisted that if he had tried to eat anything, it wouldn't have managed to get beyond his esophagus. Already, the little he had forced down earlier was threatening make a reappearance as he fought to prevent the inevitable breakdown.

He knew that he would have to get it all out soon because there was no possibility of letting it out later. He would have to be the strong one. He'd become quite good at it over the years, mourning in private, keeping the secrets, never telling anyone when his soul was ready to crumble. Once he went home, there could be no tears, no visible grief, just quiet sorrow. That was how things worked. As forward-thinking as the McGees were in most aspects of life, the stereotype of the strong silent man had never been eliminated.

That was why Tim was sitting here, waiting for the breakdown. He was so used to _not_ letting it out that it took a long time for it to come. He looked once more at the screensaver which had looped for the twentieth time and move his mouse. Immediately the pictures disappeared, leaving only the document begging for a case number. Tim looked at the notes he had been recording and was surprised when the numbers began to blur. A single tear escape from the dam and slipped silently down his cheek. Then another... and another. Then, the dam broke and Tim was sobbing. The tears accompanied by loud gasping breaths and gut-wrenching moans. His head fell into his hands as he continued to sob, almost screaming the sorrow that had been allowed to build for so long. His head fell lower as his hands slid around his ears to the back of his head, a shield against his misery.

He didn't even notice when someone put a hand on his shoulder. There were some murmured words, questions probably, but he couldn't stop the loud sobs long enough to listen. All he could do was cry. The hand became more insistent, pulling him from his position of mourning.

"Tim... what happened?" The words gradually became clear. His head came up and he looked at his computer screen which had begun showing the screensaver again. Tim didn't pay attention to the person who had spoken. He looked instead at the photos looping over and over again on his computer... the same photos he had on his camera. A fresh flood of tears overwhelmed him and his head dropped again.

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"Tim...what is it? What's wrong?" Tony watched Tim in something akin to alarm. This wasn't at all what he had expected to see when he had come back to NCIS. He had planned on grabbing his jacket and running back out to his car in time to go and pick up his date. Instead, he had stepped off the elevator and heard Tim's cries. He hadn't seen him at first, hadn't really even known who was crying, but a few more steps had brought Tim into full view.

"Hey, come on, now, Probie. What's happened?" Tony resisted the temptation to make a joke. Whatever was going on was _not_ funny. He kept his hand on Tim's shoulder, trying to make him sit up and explain, but for awhile, Tim did not seem able to do anything but cry.

"...she's dead, Tony."

"Who?" Tony asked, his own stomach plummeting as he looked at the screensaver and his own brain began putting two and two together.

"It was... a car... accident." Tim stumbled over the words. "The snow... the car flipped. She... died... instantly."

"_Who?_"

Tim looked up at Tony, completely desolate, and his face crumpled. "My little sister is dead."

"Tim... I..." Tony couldn't speak. He'd met Sarah. He'd liked her. She had been so snarky and fun in spite of the murder investigation clogging things up. "I'm sorry. When did you find out?"

"At lunchtime. My mom called, left a message," Tim wept.

"Lunch? You mean... today? You've known this all day and never said a word?" Tony asked incredulously.

"I-I couldn't. I... had work to do," Tim said. He wiped his eyes and looked at the notebook with the case number still waiting to be recorded.

"Why are you still _here_?"

"I had work to do," Tim repeated. More tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he determinedly moved the mouse again and began to type in the number into his report.

"McGee!" Tony spun the chair around, away from the computer. "This is _not_ the time to be finishing reports. Why aren't you going _home_?"

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Tim looked at Tony in confusion. Didn't he understand? "I-I can't yet."

"Why ever not?"

Tim felt the tears again as he said the devastating words. "My sister is dead." He closed his eyes and tried to hold back the tears. "I can't... leave. Not until I can... stop crying."

"What?!" Tony looked almost angry. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard, McGee. You're _supposed_ to cry when someone you love... dies."

More tears fell down Tim's cheeks when Tony said the word. "No. I have to be... strong for my mom. She's going to fall to pieces. She already has. I have to be in control. I can't break down when I get there." Tim turned resolutely back to his computer, saved the file and sent the whole thing to the printer, all the while trying to stop the tears that insisted on leaking from his eyes.

"McGee!"

Tim ignored Tony and stood to get his report. At least, he _tried_ to ignore Tony. As he stepped by him, Tony grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"McGee, _Sarah... is... dead!_ You told me that your sister just died and you're telling me now that you can't cry for her? What's _wrong_ with you?"

Tim straightened and stared Tony in the eye. "Men don't cry." Then, he stepped past Tony and took his report from the printer. "Men... don't... cry," he repeated, trying to keep himself from doing just that. He took a few steps back toward his desk where Tony was still standing, looking at him in shock.

"Say it, McGee."

"Say what, Tony?"

"Say it."

"Sarah is dead." Tim stood stock still. "Sarah is dead. My sister is dead." Tim's body began to shake with repressed grief. "I... I was going to give her a ride... she... she decided to catch a ride with one of her... her friends instead. Now... oh, no... no... she's dead." The report was crumpled as Tim unconsciously clenched his fists.

Tony took two steps toward him and put his hands on Tim's shoulders. "McGee, it's okay to cry."

As if he had been waiting for permission, Tim began to sob again and Tony, against all his normal instincts put an arm around him until the sobs eased off naturally, as opposed to forced cessation Tim had tried before.

"Th-thanks, Tony," Tim said when he could speak again.

"When are you leaving? For the... the funeral?"

"I need to put in a request for leave. Mom said the funeral would be on Monday." Tim started back to his computer. "I should go tonight. It's only a few hours' drive. Only..."

"You're not driving anywhere tonight, Probie."

Tim sent in the form and then looked at Tony again. "You're probably right. I'd... probably... get in an accident." For a moment, he thought he'd start to cry again, but the urge was much more bearable this time.

"So, what time will you leave tomorrow?" Tony asked.

Tim felt suddenly drained of all energy. He shrugged. "I don't know. In the morning sometime."

"When?"

Tim shrugged again. "Probably around ten. That will put me there around one. That will be enough time... to get things ready," he said dully.

"Okay."

Tony insisted on driving Tim back to his apartment. Tim almost couldn't bring himself to step inside, but he did in the end. It took him only seconds to fall into bed and go to sleep.

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When he woke up the next morning, he had to remember his grief all over again, but the ache wasn't as intolerable. He gathered a few things, including a nice suit for the funeral. He called his mom and told her he was on his way. She sobbed into the phone for ten minutes until Tim thought he'd crack under the strain of not crying himself. Then, he was almost to the door when there was a knock.

He opened it. "Tony? What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Driving you to your parents' house."

"What? No... you don't..."

Tony looked at him seriously. "I don't _have_ to, Probie, but you _need_ me to."

Tim stared back blankly for a long time. "Okay. Thanks."

"No problem, McGee." He turned and led Tim to his car as the tossed their bags into the back, Tony looked at him and said, "You don't have to do these things alone."

Tim's eyes filled with tears again, but he blinked them back. He nodded. "Thanks, Tony."

It was nice not to be alone for once.


End file.
